


Adoption Papers

by smallerluke



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Family Dynamics, Fluff, M/M, Other, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 11:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8204779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallerluke/pseuds/smallerluke
Summary: After a certain member of Blackwatch causes an incident at a formal UN affair, Gabriel Reyes finds his precious two-week leave  in Zürich threatened by what is, for all accounts, babysitting. But damn, someone's gotta teach this kid responsibility.





	

It wasn’t Jesse McCree’s fault that he was an irresponsible mess of a human being. Kids don’t grow up right in gangs, and definitely not in gangs during wartime. Still—Gabriel had just about _enough_ of the kid’s attitude. Sucking a breath between his teeth, voice low and dangerous, he growled, “It’s called a Windsor knot, kid. You mean to tell me you can shoot someone between the eyes at a hundred meters, but you can’t tie a tie?”

McCree angled his chin away, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He’d managed to catch his fingers in his attempt at a knot. “Ain’t like anyone taught me, Boss.”

“What, Deadlock didn’t let you go to prom?”

McCree snorted at the joke, rolling his eyes hard. “You gonna teach me or not?” he growled.

Gabriel sighed. Standing up straight, shoulders squared, he worked his tie loose and flipped his collar back up. “Watch. Pay attention this time.”

He waited for McCree’s eyes to focus. The kid all but glared at him, but Gabriel knew better than to think he’d gotten under his skin. Kid was tough as hell. Almost a year ago, bruised, bloodied, and shackled in an interrogation room, he’d taken McCree under his wing. A gang was no place for a teenager. Neither was Overwatch, but McCree had picked them over prison time, and seemed determined to make the best of it, when he was in a good mood, at least. Which wasn’t much of the time. It said a lot that McCree had come to his room for help at _all_. Maybe the kid was warming up to him.

Gabriel’s hands moved fast. McCree mirrored his movements with slow, clumsy hands. “Over, into the loop, left, around, up, through, down, across—okay.” Gabriel let the tie drop from his hands. “Maybe we’ll start with an easier one.”

“There’s different kinds?”

Gabriel stifled a laugh. He smoothed his red silk tie between his hands. McCree had at least made _something_ resembling a knot. He was a smart kid, he’d catch up. Gabriel just needed to be patient. “You know, you could get one of those southwestern style ties,” he said, “The kind with two strings and a piece of metal. It even fits your whole look.”

“You done sassin' me?”

“Watch.” Gabriel adjusted the length of the tie and picked up the wide end. “Over to the left. Good. Bring it back around and over, up through the loop, and down through—you’ve got it, Jesse.”

McCree pulled the knot tight and folded his collar down. He rocked on the balls of his feet, grimacing, then wiggled a finger under his collar. “I feel like I’m chokin’.”

“Loosen it up a little.”

Gabriel folded down his collar and reached for his suit jacket. He hadn’t worn it for almost three months, the last time he’d been in Switzerland longer than a week. It fit like a glove, with just enough wear in to make it comfortable. Hair combed back, goatee trimmed, he looked _good_. Surely Jack would appreciate the effort. Ah, _Jack_. Three months with spotty connections across different time zones made his heart ache.

He tended to hate parties, though. Too full of dignitaries with fake smiles and lies waiting to be told. They were building a new world. Who wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for shaping it?

“We got time to squeeze in a few drinks?” McCree crossed the room, surely searching for his hat.

“You’re seventeen,” Gabriel snorted. “Wait. Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

“Nah. I don’t get _nervous_ ,” McCree grumbled. “I just ain’t lookin’ forward to being paraded around.”

Gabriel adjusted his tie, looking at McCree through the mirror. “I know. I don’t like it either. Better than Japan, though. Right?”

“I mean, no one’s gonna be shootin’ at us, but sometimes it’s easier that way.” McCree leaned against the dresser, almost slipped, stumbled, and recovered without breaking countenance. “Makes it real clear what a man’s gotta do, and who his enemies are.”

“Come on,” Gabriel said, “Let’s get going before we’re missed.”

“You’re just in a rush to see Commander Baby Blues.”

“Maybe.”

They were halfway out the door when McCree ran back in to the room. “Almost forgot.” He slapped his hat down over his neatly combed hair and grinned from under the brim, back to his usual, cocksure self. “What? Doesn’t match my jacket?”

Gabriel snorted. Under the jacket—a nice, simple navy blue—McCree was wearing a plaid dress shirt.

“You look fine, kid. Now come on, we’ve got a bullshit party to attend.”

“You got it, Boss.”

-

It was the usual indulgent affair; a hotel lobby glimmering under the weight of a chandelier, delegates in finely tailored pre-Crisis style suits and ballgowns, tables full of food with names he couldn’t pronounce and didn’t particularly like. With the best of his team at his side, Gabriel felt eyes turn to him. One by one they filtered out into the party, until he was left with McCree trailing him, brown eyes narrowed and searching the corners of the lobby like he was afraid someone would leap out, guns blazing. That was just like him. Loved to kick back, but he never really relaxed. Part of his mind was always alert and on the lookout for trouble. It made him invaluable in the field, but Gabriel figured the kid had to be exhausted.

He slipped a glass of champagne into the kid’s hands and went to find Jack.

Ana and Reinhardt caught him first, crushing him in a hug, Ana’s laughter ringing out like a joyful chorus of bells. Torbjörn was too busy feasting to say hello. Liao was overseas, and never came to such parties anyway, leaving them two short for the original strike team.

“It’s been far too long, Gabriel,” Ana chirped, patting a hand down on his arm. “It’s lovely to see you, as always. From what I’ve heard things are going well in Japan?”

“We’re close,” he said, “We’re watching. Waiting.”

“You never were one to rush in.” A wide grin spread across Ana’s face. Reinhardt gave a hearty laugh, clapping a big hand down on her shoulder. No, that had always been Jack, and they all knew it.

Ah, Jack. Gabriel scanned the crowd. He was probably pulled away for a call, or was cornered by the president of some small country that needed a big favor. Ana pointed him toward the opposite side of the lobby, claiming to have seen Jack there with a woman earlier, and Gabriel tried not to look desperate as he crossed the floor. His hands were shaking with nerves. _Three months_ without being able to see that smile in person.

Halfway through a sea of stiff collars and long, trailing gowns he caught sight of blond hair. It was like Jack felt him looking, and turned away from a conversation with a collection of suits to smile at him.

Gabriel’s heart leapt. Finally, he was—

A woman’s shrill scream broke the quiet. Gabriel wheeled around, heart pounding, ready to pull the handgun from under his jacket—only to stare as Jesse _fuckin’_ McCree spun out into the middle of the floor, one cheek reddened by what had to be a slap, stumbling backwards into the Canadian Prime Minister and her wife. Champagne and wine glasses crashed to the floor. McCree recovered, only to stumble the other way, mumbling apologies that were lost in the swarm of noise. One hand over his hat, flushed a deep shade of red, McCree backed into the dessert table, flipped it over, and crashed ass-first onto trays of éclairs, tarts, and cakes.

Gabriel slapped a hand over his mouth to hold back a snort. McCree jumped back to his feet, the ass of his suit covered in whipped cream.

McCree lowered his hat to his chest, bowed his head a little, and sprinted for cover.

-

“Well, you certainly made an impression.”

McCree glared at him from the other side of his desk. His office was coated in a thin layer of dust that caught in his lungs and made Gabriel’s eyes water. A testament to time spent away.

“Ain’t like I did it on purpose,” McCree growled, “She hit me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

McCree sniffed. He kicked his boots up on Gabriel’s desk and leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, mouth pulled up in a grimace. He was right back to his usual surly self. “Bitch.”

“I’ve filed a complaint on your behalf,” Gabriel said, “What the hell did you _do_ , anyway?”

McCree’s eyes darted away. “Nothin’.”

“Jesse.”

“Fine.” He pitched forward, legs swinging off the desk, a hand on either arm of the chair. “I thought her husband was cute, but I didn’t realize he was—y’know—her _husband_. I swear I didn’t do anything, Boss, I was just lookin’. Figure she thought I was lookin’ at her.”

God. Of _course_. “You know what this means, Jesse.”

He sunk back in the chair, deflated, defeated. “Lay it on me. What’ll it be? You gonna take my hat away again?”

“No.” Gabriel pushed his chair back to stand. “You’re grounded.”

McCree stiffened. “I’m what?”

“I’m not exactly happy about it, either,” Gabriel snapped. God, he only had two weeks before he’d have to fly back to Japan, and he wanted to spend that time with Jack, not with some seventeen-year-old punk he’d picked up in New Mexico. The decision had come from up the ladder, a few rungs above Jack’s head. “You’re stuck here with me for two weeks, kid, and certain  _offended_ parties are gonna be kicking around headquarters, which means _you’ve_ got to keep your head down and your nose out of trouble.”

“I won’t be a problem, Boss, I—”

“Save it. I’m not mad at you.” Gabriel muttered. “And don’t give me any false platitudes.”

“Any false _what_?”

Gabriel rolled his neck, popping a joint. McCree flinched at the sound. Always hated it, just like Jack did. “Nevermind. Just—try to stay out of trouble, okay? At least until sundown?”

“You got it, Boss.”

-

Jack was wound up by the time Gabriel made it to his room. He waited by the door, one eyebrow cocked, while Jack criss-crossed the room, one hand on the comm in his ear, the other gesturing wildly as he tried—without much success—to calm down some dignitary in the midst of a personal crisis. By the time Jack noticed he was even there, Gabriel was ready to slip out the door, tired of listening to Jack’s attempts at conversation.

He went silent on the comms. The dignitary kept talking. Well, yelling, mostly.

Jack crossed the room, mouthing softly, _I’m sorry. Almost done._

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep himself from smiling at the touch of Jack’s fingers against his jaw, the sweep of a warm, open palm against his chest. Jack pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “…I’ll have it done first thing in the morning.” Jack circled Gabriel’s waist, thumbs pushing into his muscle. Gabriel leaned into the touch and slid his hands into Jack’s hair. God, it was so soft. “No, I can’t do that right now. My staff is asleep.”

Gabriel tugged Jack against his lips, pressed a hard kiss there before Jack jerked back, grinning widely. “It’s almost midnight in Zürich. Yes, I understand this is urgent. I’ll have it done at—”

Jack rolled his eyes. Gabriel tucked his head into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. God, he’d missed this, annoying dignitaries and all. Jack was perfect and warm in his arms. He pressed soft kisses to his neck wherever he could reach, pulling Jack’s collar down.

“I’m glad you understand. Uh, excuse me—I’m getting another call.” Jack switched off the comm, sucking in a sharp breath.

“About time,” Gabriel murmured, reaching up to kiss Jack properly. “I missed you so much, Jack—”

“I’m really getting another call,” Jack said, a sheepish smile kicking up at the corner of his mouth.

Gabriel let his body roll back, falling against the wall. “You’re fucking kidding.”

He waited, cold without Jack’s hands on him, while his boyfriend crossed the room, answering stiffly, formally.

Blue eyes shot back to where he was standing. “It’s for you, actually,” Jack muttered.

“Oh—fuck. What did he do _now_?”

-

McCree wasn’t a pretty drunk. Not a particularly _neat_ drunk, either; he left broken bottles, noses, and hearts in his wake. Gabriel dragged him out of the bar by the collar of his now-mussed plaid shirt. _Technically_ McCree had listened, and he reminded Gabriel of that fact liberally as they stumbled towards a waiting staff car. He’d gone out to cause trouble in downtown Zürich, instead of at HQ, so really he couldn’t be mad—no, he was _livid_. The short ride through claustrophobic city streets only let Gabriel’s anger simmer.

 _Three months_ they’d been in Japan. _Three months_ he hadn’t been able to hold his boyfriend. _Three months_ and McCree was still the brat he’d saved from jail time.

“This is getting out of hand, Jesse,” Gabriel growled, biting back on the instinct to yell. That never did any good, but apparently patience wasn’t working, either. “I don’t get it. What are you looking for?”

“Lookin’? I ain’t lookin’ for nothin’,” McCree slurred. He fell over in the backseat, head falling heavy on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Jus’ wanted to have a little fun, that’s all.”

“You must have had a hell of a time,” Gabriel grunted. “Look at you. Can you even feel it?”

“Feel what, Boss?”

Gabriel poked at McCree’s bloodied nose. The kid yelped and jolted back, eyes wide, mouth dropped open. “The fuck was that for?”

“One of these days the cops are gonna pick you up and I might not be able to bail you out, Jesse. You need to be more careful.” He wrestled McCree back into his seat, buckling the seatbelt despite the kid’s squirming. “I only have so much charisma and charm to go around, you know? And I try to save most of it for my boyfriend. Oh, and thanks again for—”

Gabriel stopped mid-sentence. McCree’s eyes were closed, and his head rolled loose on his shoulders to rest against the window.

“Fuck.” Gabriel leaned down to recover the kid’s hat from where it had fallen and patted it onto a head of scruffy brown hair. He leaned back in his seat and watched the moon in a clear, starless sky until HQ loomed in front of them.

“Do you need a hand with him, Commander?” The driver asked.

“No. Thanks, Bachmann. Sorry about the late night call.”

“It’s no problem at all, Commander.”

Gabriel pulled McCree out of the backseat and almost dropped him on the sidewalk. The kid groaned. Awake, at least. No point in yelling at him anyways; he’d get his ass to a bed and leave him with a bottle of water and an aspirin. Gabriel kicked down the door and hauled McCree into his bunk, waking up three other recruits, who blinked at him like owls from under blankets.

“Hey, Brunner, do me a favor and keep an eye on the kid?” He shucked off McCree’s boots—ugly, gaudy things, of course—and hung his hat on a peg beside the bunk. “He’s gonna be hungover as hell in the morning.”

“You got it, Commander.”

It was well past two in the morning. Jack would be fast asleep. Gabriel walked down the hall with his fingers pressed hard against his temples, a headache forming like a storm behind his eyes.

-

He and Jack had a lot of routines that had been upset by their respective jobs, but it was easy to forget that he’d spent three months away from Jack’s side when they went for a run through the grounds and down into the arboretum along the lake, talking like nothing had changed. Part of him might have preferred to curl up in Jack’s bed, but Jack _loved_ to run, and who was he to deny the love of his life such a simple morning pleasure? The comms were always turned off for the run, giving them time to talk, or time just to enjoy the quiet and the scenery. Once they were almost back, Gabriel reached for Jack’s hand, not caring that his palm was damp with sweat.

Jack grinned at him, fine lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Coffee,” he panted, “My place or yours?”

Gabriel choked on a laugh. “Yours, Blondie. You’ve got a better view.”

They slowed to a walk. Jack put his arm around Gabriel’s shoulders, and he angled up for a kiss. Short, sweet. Humming under his breath, Gabriel pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it back on. “Oh—oh _no_ —”

A dozen messages popped up on his phone. All McCree.

“What is it?” Jack asked, nosing against his temple. “He fall down a well or something?”

McCree got points for creativity. “‘Help, the kitchen is on fire. Not my fault.’ Oh, this one’s good. ‘Fiona’s giving birth and we need a doctor!’”

Jack snorted. “Why’s he up, anyway?”

“God, who knows?” Gabriel scrolled through the rest of the messages. “You’ll like this one. ‘Your boyfriend fell down the stairs in the barracks and he can’t get up. He’s calling for you. I think he busted a hip! Better get down here, Boss.’”

“You got a secret boyfriend or is he referring to me?” Jack grinned.

Gabriel shouldered into Jack’s touch and craned his neck to press his lips to a jumping pulse. “Yeah, that’s right. Top secret.”

“I think he’s just bored,” Jack said. “I mean, you took his gun away from him. What else does he have?”

“A phone. The gym. About a hundred other people he could bother.” Gabriel pulled away, eyes narrowed at Jack. Cool blue eyes stared back at him, revealing nothing. “Well, what the hell do seventeen-year-old past criminals do for fun?”

“Get smashed and annoy their bosses.” Jack kissed the top of Gabriel’s forehead. “Go check in on him. I’ll have coffee ready for you upstairs, okay? Try not to take too long, Senator Grant will be on the phone by nine.”

“Of course.” Gabriel squeezed Jack’s hand in his before making for the barracks, mind working hard.

-

McCree was stretched across the counters in the barracks kitchen, one hand propped up under his cheek, grinning so wide that Gabriel’s jaw hurt just looking at him. The kid was still wearing the ugly plaid shirt, but had traded his suit pants for a pair of shorts that definitely didn’t belong to him, judging by how short they were. A lit cigar dangled from his teeth, which had to be the reason why the smoke alarm was screaming.

Gabriel stormed across the kitchen and punched the alarm until it shut off.

“You.” He rounded on McCree, tugged the cigar from his teeth, and stomped it out on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing, Jesse?”

McCree leaned his head back. His hat fell off, but he didn’t move to retrieve it. “I was wonderin’ when you’d show up, Boss.”

Gabriel sucked in a long, deep breath. Getting mad didn’t achieve anything. Jack’s words echoed in his skull. _He’s just bored._

Fuck.

“Where did you find cigars, anyway?”

“In your office,” McCree said. “Funny how you’re always tellin’ me not to smoke.”

“Get off the counter.”

“Why?”

What—why the hell did he need a reason? Gabriel worked a hand into his hair, wishing he had his beanie on, or a hood, or anything other than the useless armor offered by a white t-shirt and gym shorts. “Because Everett smears jam all over the place when he makes toast in the morning and you’re gonna ruin your nice shirt,” he snapped. “What do you want from me, Jesse?”

McCree grinned up at him, but there was a sharp edge to that smile, like the kid was playing a game. “I don’t want nothin’.”

Gabriel plucked McCree’s phone from where it sat on the counter, abandoned. “Consider this repossessed, for the time being,” he said, “You know, there’s a rec room just a short walk down the hall. It’s got a television and games and books and _other people_ who’d be more than happy to spend time with you.”

McCree rolled off the counter and somehow managed to land on his feet. Snapping upright, the same height as Gabriel, he mocked a salute. “You’re the boss.”

Gabriel followed him down the hall. He’d been right about the state of the counters. There was a big grape jelly stain on the back of McCree’s shirt. Not that someone like McCree would mind, much.

Before he’d found him, he’d just been a kid in a gang. He didn’t know better. Gabriel closed his eyes and pressed his palms against his face. “You know what I did, when I was your age?”

McCree wheeled around, eyes bright just for a moment, and Gabriel felt his spirits lift just a little. “What’s that, Boss?”

“I _read_ ,” Gabriel grunted. McCree paused in the hall, and Gabriel gently pushed him toward the rec room door. “Don’t look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Books?” McCree scrunched up his face, like the very idea left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Yeah. _Books_. You know, you like Western shit so much, I think I have something for you.” He nodded to a few recruits as he walked to the bookshelf, rifling through dusty titles. Most of them were from his own personal collection, rescued from his parent’s house after his permanent move to Europe at the end of the Crisis. They were there for his own benefit. No one else bothered to read, especially not when there was a gigantic holoscreen in the room. “Here.”

It was a small, slim title.

“Old Yeller?”

“It’s only a hundred pages,” Gabriel said, “Tell you what. You read that, I’ll give you your phone back.”

“You’re…bribing me to read?” McCree cocked a brow.

God, it was a shitty, awful idea—

“Deal.” McCree snapped the paperback out of his hands. “Never had any books in Deadlock,” he mumbled, turning it over in his hands and letting it dangle by a page, flopped out like a dead bird. “See you in a flash, boss.”

Coffee was waiting for him, and Gabriel didn’t want to waste more time.

-

Gabriel played fingers against Jack’s collarbone, dancing along old scars and new, ruffling through soft chest hair. They were stretched out on a sun-soaked bed, half-dressed, their cups of coffee half-empty. Jack looked like he was ready to fall asleep, eyes closed, visage peaceful.

“Don’t fall asleep, Farm Boy. You’ll miss Senator Grant.”

Jack’s chest moved with an inhale, then a long, drawn-out groan. “I’m tired of babysitting him. Can’t wait for him to fly back to—” Jack’s brow drew, mouth tucked up. “—I should remember what state he represents. Florida?”

“Kentucky.”

Jack edged fingers into Gabriel’s hair, sweeping smoothly from his temple to the back of his head. “Speaking of babysitting. Any luck?”

“Well, I was only fifteen minutes late. I thought you’d noticed.” Gabriel pressed slow, lazy kisses to Jack’s neck, pulling out contented sighs for his trouble. “I guess you were distracted. Can’t imagine why.” He nipped lightly, making Jack jump and laugh. “I took his phone and gave him a book.”

“He reads?”

“No.” Gabriel swept a hand down Jack’s chest, tracing along his hip. He’d memorized Jack’s scars a long time ago. There was a long, narrow line from hip to his knee, a trio of star-shaped bullet wounds on the opposite side of his stomach, and a short, raised ridge below his navel. “Some kind of western I had on the shelf. Old Yeller.”

Jack went rigid underneath him. Gabriel lifted his head from the crook of his neck. “What?”

“You… _know_ what that book is about, right?”

“Something about a dog.”

“Yeah.” Jack lifted his brows, creating deep creases in his forehead. “Gabriel, you gave Jesse a book about a teenage boy growing up in the wild west with a _dog_.”

“I don’t see what the problem—”

Slow breaths caught and rumbled Jack’s chest. Gabriel sat back, confused and a little embarrassed, as Jack’s chuckle turned into an awkward, breathy laugh. “He’s gonna want to get a dog.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes hard, flopping back on the mattress. “You think he’s that impressionable?”

“I read that book when I was seven,” Jack said, “And then we got a dog. Well, he ended up being my grandparents dog, but—” Jack rolled over onto Gabriel’s chest, eyes bright and skin tinted yellow in the morning light. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea.”

Gabriel stared hard at Jack, expecting his countenance to break, for the reveal that it was all just a joke at his expense.

“He’s old enough. I mean, you won’t be able to take a dog with you—but we talked about getting a pet, remember?” Jack kissed him firmly on the lips and pulled back just as abruptly to keep talking. “I haven’t had a dog since I was a kid. There’s a shelter just a few blocks from here. I may have stopped in a few times on my way back from runs.”

“Wow, what a surprise.”

Jack smirked at him, clearly amused. “Jesse could learn a few things from taking care of an animal. It might be good for him.”

Jack’s abandoned visor beeped with a call. Rolling his eyes, Jack pulled himself off Gabriel’s chest to answer Senator Grant, who picked up right where he’d left off the night before, with lots of panicked yelling.

Gabriel pulled his shirt back on and reclined against the pillows. Soft and fluffy, nothing but the best for Strike Commander Morrison. It was a little funny, though—Jack had always preferred crappy, flat pillows, like the ones they had during SEP, or sleeping on his arm. Gabriel, on the other hand, sunk back onto the bed like it belonged to him.

He closed his eyes, listening to Jack’s attempts to talk Senator Grant down with an amused smile on his face. In seconds he was dozing off. Listening to Morrison drone on, all polite and political, was the quickest route to falling asleep Gabriel had ever found. He still wasn’t brave enough to tell Jack that he kept a recording of a summit in London that was so _dry_ and so _boring_ that it knocked Gabriel right out on red-eye flights.

The door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. He couldn't see the door from the bed, and angled his head to glance around the decorative partition. Closed again. Huh. Probably one of his new staff who hadn't learned to knock first.

"Howdy!"

McCree leapt out from behind the partition and landed hard on the bed, springing Gabriel up to knock his head on the headboard, cussing and swearing under his breath. The paperback book hit him flat in the face.

He palmed it away. McCree sat on his haunches, tipped his hat, grinning out from under the brim. "G'mornin', Commanders."

Gabriel swept his hands down his face. "Alright, Jesse, I've got a few questions. Let's start with _what the fuck are you doing here_?"

Jack, one hand over the comm's microphone, gave him a pointed look that said _Quiet_. Gabriel lightly chucked a pillow at Jack, hitting him in the ass, getting a narrowed stare and a playful smile for his trouble.

"You owe me something."

"What?"

"My phone, Boss." McCree reached for the paperback and waggled it. "Finished it. You want a book report?"

"Who let you in?"

"Door wasn't locked."

That was probably his fault. He'd been in a rush to get Jack into bed. "Do you have _any_ concept of boundaries?"

"Nope." McCree flopped back to lounge on Jack's side of the bed, languid and stretched out like he was the king of Overwatch. "You got the tape, too?"

"The what?"

"Brunner told me it's a movie," McCree drawled, eyes sparking like matches. "Old as shit. I can't find it on the network. You got one?"

"This really couldn't have waited until I got back?"

McCree made a face like he was offended, and swept his hat off his head to press it to his chest. "I'm beginnin' to think you don't like me, Boss."

"How the hell are you not hungover and puking your brains out?"

"Someone was kind enough to leave me enough drugs for a horse," McCree teased. "Phone."

Gabriel rolled over, grumbling under his breath, reaching for where he'd stowed it in the nightstand. "Here." He slapped it into McCree's hands. "Go."

"You got that movie or not?"

Jack crossed the room, covered the comm mic, and said, "I told you, Gabriel." Senator Grant was all but screaming in his ear. Gabriel was starting to get a migraine.

"Sorry," McCree muttered, "I'll be quiet."

A black plastic brick landed softly on the bed between them. McCree scooped it up in his hands, turning the thing over, eyes narrowed and tongue pulled out between his teeth. "The hell is this?"

"It's a VHS tape," Jack said, "Be careful with it. Hard to find copies."

"Okay." McCree rolled onto his back, lifting the thing over his head. "What's a VHS?"

"Jack, you are so fuckin' old-school. Figures." Gabriel plucked the tape from McCree. "God, you even bothered to rewind it? Boy scout."

“…Yes, the convoy is already on route—I understand time is of the essence, Senator Grant—” Jack rolled his eyes hard, picked up the pillow that Gabriel had thrown, and put it back where it belonged. “—Right away, Senator—” Quiet on the comm. Jack blinked slowly. “He hung up on me. Unbelievable.”

Blue eyes grazed across the bed to where McCree was stretched out. “It was one of my favorites when I was a kid,” he said, “You mess up that tape, I’ll escort you back to New Mexico myself.”

McCree tipped his hat. “Yessir.”

The kid snapped the tape from his hands and was gone in a second. Jack was giving him that look.

“Don’t—”

“I _told_ you.” Jack bounced onto the bed, fingers jabbing into Gabriel’s ribs. “You should listen to me every once in a while. Occasionally I make good guesses.”

“Oh, cut it out, Blondie,” Gabriel grunted. He rolled away from Jack’s reach, but his boyfriend followed, arms tangling around his waist, warm mouth pressing light kisses between his shoulder blades in between whispers of _I told you so, I told you so_.

-

Jack was called away to London for the night, and Gabriel couldn’t sleep right on the flat, hard mattress in his room. He gave up close to midnight and wandered through the barracks halls in the ugly grandpa slippers Jack had left behind years before, rubbing bleary eyes and thinking about how nice a cup of tea would be.

He heard a whistle-tone and distorted music from behind the rec room door. Gabriel stopped to watch colors flash under the door and palmed it open, just enough to peer in, ready to berate whichever of his agents was up this—

No, it was just McCree. Not that Gabriel could be mad at the sight of the kid sprawled out on the rec room floor in front of the holo screen, sobbing softly into his bunched-up bandana.

“You finally get around to watching it?”

McCree let out a little, startled shriek, jerking upright. “What’re you doin’ up, Boss? Thought you’d be busy.” A small, scared smile wobbled on the kid’s face, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. Gabriel glanced around for the drugs, booze, skin mags, whatever he had to be hiding. Just a half-empty bowl of popcorn and a scatter of crushed soda cans.

Credits rolled across the screen. Gabriel couldn’t tell if it was the start or the end of the movie. “Relax, kid,” he said. He was too tired to bother walking the rest of the way to the kitchen, and flopped down on the couch, kicking his feet up. “So, what’s the verdict? Does my boyfriend have terrible taste or what?”

McCree scrunched up his nose. Always did that when he was thinking, and most of the time it was followed up by a smart-ass retort that gave a glance at the kid’s sharp mind. Instead, he was still and silent, watching him with brown eyes that shifted color in the light of the holoscreen. Then, with an indignant huff, like he was affronted, McCree pulled himself off the floor and plopped onto the couch next to him.

“Guess you’ll have to decide for yourself,” McCree drawled, moving Gabriel’s slippers away from him.

“This isn’t my kind of—” Gabriel stopped mid-sentence. McCree _wasn’t_ sassing him. “—You know what, I’ve got nothing else to do.”

Jesse McCree _wasn’t_ trying to cause trouble. It was a Christmas miracle.

-

He met Jack at the airport, kissed him without regard for the cameras, and talked the whole ride back to HQ like he was a kid again. All morning McCree had behaved himself. He’d even asked for more books to read, and listened with quiet awe as Gabriel walked him through a tour of the bookshelf. Sure, McCree was only interested in dog books or works set in the west, but it was a start. Now that he thought about it, the kid didn’t have any real hobbies aside from their missions, and Gabriel looked forward to bonding with the kid over words.

Jack was soft-eyed despite the clear exhaustion set in the lines on his face. “You’re really fond of the kid, huh? Who would’ve thought.”

Gabriel shrugged off the comment, but it stuck in his head as they drove through busy streets bursting with activity. Yeah, sure, when McCree was in a good mood he was wickedly funny, and when he felt like it, he could show how smart he was, too. Chances to see both at the same time were rare.

The kid had come a long way from the scrawny, smart-assed punk he’d been in Deadlock.

“I think you’re right, Jack.”

“About what?”

“Let’s get him a dog.”

Jack was bone-tired—he’d complained enough to make that _abundantly_ clear—but he sparked to life like he was a robot and Gabriel had just hit the power, eyes snapping wide, mouth tightening up into a smile. “Wait—really?”

“You did hear me right? Let’s get _Jesse_ a dog.”

It was like Jack didn’t hear him, because Jack was on top of him in a second, threatening to squeeze the breath out of him. Gabriel accepted it with a sigh, leaning back against the window. “You’re a goddamn octopus, Jack. Shame you’re not as nice to look at.”

“Bachmann!” Jack was off him just as quickly, draping himself over the driver’s seat. “To the city pound, please.”

“Jack, _no_ ,” he groaned, “We have to think this through. Don’t dogs need leashes and licenses and—”

Jack considered with narrow eyes. “Bachmann, change of plans.”

“Oh, thank God you still have some sense.”

“To the pet store!”

-

Jack wound through the aisles of the store, leaving Gabriel alone to inspect the price of dog food. “I’m not sure this is a great idea,” he said, “McCree’s not good with money. What if he doesn’t have enough to pay for food? Or vet appointments?”

Jack bumped his shoulder as he walked past, humming a song under his breath. “He’ll learn fast.”

“It’s a living creature,” Gabriel argued, “What if Jesse tries to feed it the same crap he eats? He’ll kill it.”

“Gabriel.” Jack squirmed in between him and the wall of dog food, clapping his hands down on his shoulders. “You’ve trusted this kid to watch your back for almost a _year_ now. You need to give him a little credit where credit’s due.”

Gabriel avoided Jack’s eyes. God, he was giving Gabriel _that_ look again, like this whole thing was a game and he was winning. With a sigh he rolled his shoulders, put his hands around Jack’s waist, and moved him out of the way. “I’m trusting you on this, Jack.”

“I know.” Jack pulled away from his touch, stepping lightly to the other side of the aisle. “This will be good for him.”

-

“We should probably get him one that’s already trained. Basic commands, sit, shake—can’t be too smart or he’ll teach it how to—Jack, are you even listening to me?” Gabriel lifted his eyes from the snub-faced dog in the kennel, glancing both ways down the aisles. It was loud as hell and stank like wet dog, but Jack was the happiest he’d seen him in years, flicking from kennel to kennel, sticking fingers through the fences despite the _many_ notices up telling visitors to do the exact opposite. Gabriel flicked at the placard. “They’re got little ratings and personality groups,” he said, “I think Jesse needs a yellow. And what about size?” He stepped down the aisle and dropped to a knee to inspect a lazy-eyed bulldog. “I mean, I’m not going to suggest a chihuahua, but—” The bulldog growled at him and Gabriel bailed, crossing the aisle to friendlier looking dogs. “ _Has_ to be housebroken, so don’t even _look_ at the puppies, Jack.”

“What was that? I can’t hear you.” Jack grinned at him, pointing at his ears. He had his fingers stuffed into a cage with two squirming yellow labs that matched his hair. “Honestly, Gabriel, you need to relax. You’re thinking too much.”

“And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re not taking this seriously,” Gabriel spat.

Jack lifted to his feet, blond head rolling loose on his shoulders. “You don’t pick out a dog based on three sentences and a color.”

“I never had a dog.” Gabriel kneeled in front of a kennel where a long-haired sheepdog was sleeping without care for the noise. “Ma always said they made too much of a mess.”

He felt Jack’s hands on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing into muscle. He pressed a kiss to Gabriel’s cheek. “When you find the right one, you just know.”

“Yeah, that’s real romantic and all, but that’s not much help seeing as McCree’s not here.”

“I’ve got a good sense for it,” Jack said. “You’ll see.”

Jack padded down the alley. Gabriel watched the sheepdog’s chest rise and fall with long, slow breaths. “Can you believe that guy?”

Gabriel swept his hands down his pants as he stood and adjusted his beanie, pulling it tight against his scalp. The old sheepdog looked like it was about as tired of being in the shelter as he was. “Listen, Jack, maybe we’re rushing things. We’ll talk it over, make a plan, and—what the _hell_ is that?”

There was something big and fluffy in Jack’s arms, wiggling around so much that Gabriel couldn’t get a clear idea of whether or not it was a _dog_. The thing was covered in matted, rust-colored fur. Long nails scratched against Jack’s arm, not like he cared. He was laughing like the whole thing was hilarious, the dog squirming up to lick his face. Disgusting. He sure wouldn’t be letting Jack anywhere near him until he had a shower.

“Jack, that thing has rabies.”

“It’s just a stray.”

“Exactly!”

Jack put the dog down on the floor. It remained still long enough for Gabriel to see that it was missing a chunk of one ear and most of a back leg. It might have been cute, once. “Jack, no.”

Goddamn it, Jack already had his best poster boy smile out in full force. “I told you to trust me.”

“That _thing_ is going to eat Jesse.”

“Won’t that still solve your problem?”

Gabriel snorted. “I like you better when you don't try to be funny.”

The dog ambled over to him and plopped down, tongue lolling out of its mouth. He reached down, half-sure that the thing would bite his hand off, and patted it on the head.

“Oh, God. This is a bad idea. This is a _terrible_ idea.”

“It’s decided.” Jack scooped up the dog and leaned in to kiss Gabriel, and he couldn’t make it out of the way in time.

-

Gabriel rolled his knuckles under his thumbs. Bachmann didn’t ask any questions about the mutt in the backseat, which was good. The dog climbed on top of him to stick its head out the window, leaving a stream of drool down the window and along the side of the car. He was hopelessly covered in reddish hair. He wouldn’t be able to wear black anymore.

“I sent Jesse a message, asking him to meet us out on the grounds,” Jack said, “You ready?”

“No.”

“Bring us right up, will you, Bachmann?”

“Yes sir.”

“Relax, Gabriel. It’s a good idea.” Jack leaned against his shoulder. He stunk like a dog. When the car started to slow, Jack reached across him for the door. “Look, he doesn’t suspect a thing.”

McCree was showing off for Fareeha and an assortment of kids by slinging rubber bands at passing agents. Of course. Gone for a few hours and he was right back to being a royal pain in the—

The door clicked open. The dog was gone in a flash, and Jack followed, climbing out over him to fall out of the car. Gabriel watched from the car, his breath tangled up in his throat thanks to his nerves. God, what if McCree hated the dog? What if he looked like an asshole for not bothering to _ask_ if the kid wanted a pet or not? Dogs were a lot of work, after all, and they’d brought him the mangiest, dirtiest dog at the—

A high-pitched yell crossed the yard. Gabriel pulled himself out of the car, heart pounding, sure that the damn dog had bitten him—but he froze on the spot.

Jesse McCree had his arms around the dogs neck and was rolling on the ground with the dirty thing, tears and snot streaming down his face.

“I can’t believe it!” McCree whooped, “You got me a dog, Boss?”

Gabriel had barely started to walk toward them when McCree launched across the grounds like a bat of hell and jumped at him, arms winding so tight around Gabriel’s neck that he couldn’t breath. He was gone just as quickly, sprinting through the grass to tackle the damn dog, laughing and running his fingers through rusty fur.

“I told you so,” Jack teased.

Well, goddamn.

-

“She can _too_ sit on the couch. I gave her a bath, just like you asked,” McCree whined, trying to walk around Gabriel to the sofa, cursing under his breath when every advance was blocked. “I’ll vacuum up tomorrow, I promise. Cross my heart, Boss.”

The damn dog sat on her haunches at McCree’s side, looking up at Gabriel with big, warm brown eyes. McCree had tied his favorite bandana around the dog’s neck.

“She can sit on the ottoman,” Gabriel grumbled, “And only because I’m going to hold you to that promise, kid.”

He patted his hand down on McCree’s hat, ruffling his hair, earning a hearty laugh for his trouble. “Don’t get too excited, now. You’ll have to walk her and feed her and I’ll be damned if you catch me picking up after her.”

“Of course, Boss—”

“Easy, I’m not done. You’ll take her for vet appointments and you’ll pay for them, too. And—”

“I think Jesse gets the idea,” Jack chirped from the couch. “Can you grab some snacks?”

“C’mon, Scout! Snack time!” McCree gave a salute and disappeared with the dog on his heels.

Jack leaned back over the arm of the couch, giving him a strange, distant look. “What?” Gabriel grunted.

“Nothing. Come sit with me.”

He nestled in under Jack’s arm, heaved a sigh, and let his head roll back to rest in the curve of his shoulder. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

 _Homeward Bound: The Incredible Journey_. Another goddamn dog movie.

“You’re forgetting something, babe.”

“Oh?”

Jack looped an arm around him to tug at his hoodie pocket. “The papers.”

“Right.” Gabriel swallowed hard. God, it was such a simple thing, but damn if it didn’t make him nervous. “Too late to turn back now, isn’t it?”

“You saw how happy he is.”

“You’re right.”

McCree returned with his arms stuffed with snacks that Gabriel knew didn’t belong to him. The kid popped onto the couch beside him, kicked up his feet, and whistled for the dog. Scout nestled along the side of McCree’s leg like she’d always been there. Like she belonged.

“One more thing, Jesse.”

McCree turned to him slowly, eyes narrowed into a glare. “What?

Gabriel sat up to pull the papers from his pockets and hand them over. “Scout’s your dog,” he said, “After you sign the adoption papers.”

McCree stared at the papers in his hands, eyes widening by the second, mouth falling open, like he was having trouble believing it. He shook his head a little. A long, slow grin curled across his mouth. “I ain’t never had a dog before,” he said.

“Me neither.”

McCree threw the papers onto the coffee table. Gabriel blinked at them, confused. “Aren’t you going to—”

McCree threw his arms around Gabriel’s neck and squeezed him tight, but he didn’t let go right away, not like before. A soft sob caught in the kid’s throat. Gabriel put his arms around the kid, laughing a little under his breath.

The dog interrupted with a messy lick to McCree’s face, and Gabriel pushed the kid away to escape.

One arm looped around Scout’s neck, McCree tipped his hat.

“Thanks, Pops.”

Gabriel's breath stopped cold. McCree hit  _play_ on the movie and sat back, grinning.

_"My name is Chance. I know, it sounds odd, but most names do if you think about it long enough... maybe even yours. I was abandoned when I was very young. I lived on the streets scavenging for food, sleeping wherever I could; that seemed like fun at first, but pretty soon, it landed me behind bars..."_

 

**Author's Note:**

> anna-droid.tumblr.com
> 
> So, I watched Homeward Bound this weekend, cried a lot, and wrote this.


End file.
